My hair flew around like the white fluff of a dandelion. Everyone from the Head Steward down to the Stable Boys called me Darling Dimple. I’m told I screamed at this pronouncement, but it did me no good.
She squinted nearsightedly at my wrinkled red face. The Under-slicer, Jane, plucked me from my departed mother’s side.
The day I was born, she kissed me good-bye, curled up her toes, and died. My grief-stricken mother spent her days chopping vegetables and sobbing. My father was a sailor who’d been lost at sea. My mother was an Under-chopper, working beside the Under-slicer in the castle kitchens, when she had me. You wouldn’t suspect that it had anything to do with dragons. Perched on the side of a mountain, the castle blazed like a diamond in the sun-majestic, but ordinary as castles go. Not that you would think so to look at it. But I was born in a castle built by dragons. I wasn’t born in a tower or in a golden chamber.
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